But this week, I found myself resentful of several people around me. I was angry to the point of tears and no amount of foot stomping or door slamming would satisfy. I wanted to scream. Why did these people not see how hard I was working? How hard I am trying? How difficult it is to be who I am today?
This rage came on the heels of two difficult conversations. In the first, I was told I belonged to a generation of entitlement and needed to work on humility and gratitude (especially since I was training to be a pastor). In the second, I was reprimanded for not socializing with those I didn't know during the meal. I broke down. I found myself craving a little grace.
Wouldn't grace enable them to go gentle on me? Understand my story better? Forgive? And yet, as the waves of anger started to subside and I swallowed my pride and embraced these people who had hurt me, I wondered why I felt so free. I wonder now if my anger filled up all the space where grace would have gone.
Grace is funny like that, isn't it? Letting us hurt and rage and then flowing in and washing it all away?